Gemotions

The old woman, Elara, watched from her parked car, a faded blue Corolla. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun, illuminating the demolition crew’s progress on the house. She’d brought a thermos of hot tea and a plate of shortbread cookies, even though her stomach churned with a tightness that felt like a fist. She knew the workers would appreciate a little something, especially on a day as hot as this.

She watched them for a while, letting her gaze drift over the collapsing brickwork. The house had stood there, steadfast, for eighty years. It felt like a betrayal, this destruction. Yet, she understood progress. Still, she wanted to help them.

Stepping out of the car, she approached the foreman, a man with a sweat-stained baseball cap. "Afternoon," she said, her voice soft but steady. “I just wanted to offer you and your team some refreshments. I made some tea and some cookies.” His eyes, bloodshot and tired, widened slightly, then softened.